


Not A Finger

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2019 [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mild Language, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 07:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17678831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: In which Hopper threatens Mike with arrest if he lays a finger on El.  Regardless of the circumstances.Pairing:  Mike Wheeler/ElevenPrompt:  HandcuffsBeta by imaginary_golux





	Not A Finger

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the Doctor Who side of my brain saw "handcuffs" and "Eleven" together and went "Yowzah!"

Mike knew, in sort of an internalized sort of way, that fathers were overprotective of their daughters. He knew this despite his own dad’s laissez faire attitude toward Nancy’s sexuality; despite the fact that Hopper wasn’t really El’s dad.

 _Actually_ getting the proverbial shovel talk from Hopper was entirely different. 

For one thing, the Chief was in full uniform, badge polished and everything. The Chief was _never_ in full uniform if he could help it. It was a disquieting visual made even more unsettling by the fact that Hopper had sat them down on opposite ends of the sofa while he stood, putting Mike’s bulging eyes right at the level of a belt weighted with pistol, nightstick, and handcuffs. 

For another thing, the Chief never raised his voice. Just explained his expectations for both of them with the strong underpinning assumption that there would be Serious Consequences if those expectations were unmet. A curfew was set and rules were made about how often Mike could visit. Mike memorized each one; a good DM wasn’t opposed to fudging the occasional rule for the sake of a good story, but rules also existed for perfectly good reasons, and getting killed at level two because you thought fighting a frost giant was a good idea made for a bad story.

“And finally,” Hopper barked, voice smoke-gruff, “you don’t lay a finger on her.” With surprising alacrity, he slapped his handcuffs down on the coffee table, making both teens jump. “Or I drag your sorry ass down to the jailhouse and throw away the key.”

“I would never hurt her,” Mike vowed, and for a second he thought he saw the gleam of protective menace fade. “Never.” Probably not the best time to mention that he had nearly run away from home to protect her two years ago. 

“You know what I mean, Wheeler,” Hopper growled. “Any smart-ass questions?”

“No, sir!” Mike sat on his hands, fighting the urge to grab El’s hand or salute. 

“Good.” Hopper took off his hat and undid the top button on his shirt. The tension that had been sizzling cooled and faded.

“Hold hands?” El offered.

“Only when I can see you. And you can’t study if your hands are busy. Speaking of which, you’ve got about forty minutes before dinner, so hit the books.” He paused. “Longer if it burns and I have to order a pizza.” His glare silenced any potential giggles. “Don’t laugh! Joyce has been giving me tips.”

“C’mon-El-let’s-go!” Mike blurted out before he could say anything too stupid. 

As soon as they were back in El’s room, Mike choked out a laugh. “What’s so funny?” El asked, head cocked to one side.

“Just...your dad and Will’s mom? Cooking together?” His mental image involved the massive bear of a man being scolded by the petite Ms. Byers.

“Sounds sweet,” El replied with a shrug. The picture in Mike’s mind shifted: now it was he and El, older, taller, making food together, not in some ramshackle cabin or his parents’ claustrophobic home, but in some space of their own, maybe with tiny dark-haired children running underfoot...

“Yeah, I guess,” was all he said, but a goofy smile filled his face. The brush of El’s lips on his brought him fully back to the present. 

“No fingers,” she whispered impishly before grabbing her notebook and pencil, and she winked. Winked! Mike wondered what TV show she had seen that on before fishing out his textbooks. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask...

“Hey, El? Your dad wouldn’t actually arrest me, would he?”

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you,” El replied simply, and his mind reeled with the depth of that statement. Jesus, the prospect of high school seemed less daunting all the time. Suddenly, navigating complex social situations was a distant fourth on a list of worries that included extraplanar murder monsters, his parents’ icy marriage, and dating a cop’s daughter.

No, he thought, giving El’s hand a quick, forbidden squeeze. Dating El.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back, and snuggled a little closer to him as they began to study.


End file.
